last one now for this time coming...days so long and what to do so many fights to carry all alone in my mountain silence so many futile twistings swingings in the wind...so many. too many. too hard, this.

poor children...poor poor woymn child times two i never wanted this life for either of us never wanted never thought in truth...perhaps there my mistake was planted seed like to blossom darkly in this time?

but, no matter really cause the dies been cast and the reapings fall about us now some lightly some as heavy as the boulder ive become...

poor child...poor children. tears can now save nothing.